


coup de grâce

by ffonippop



Series: after me, the flood [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Brat GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Break Up, But you already knew that, Dysfunctional Relationships, Feelings Realization, Georgenotfound Has Commitment issues, Insecurity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, Teasing, They have sex ik thats why most of u are here, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, but also like... please they do more than just have sex, do i even have to tag what happens in the story anymore i mean ik yall horny asf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffonippop/pseuds/ffonippop
Summary: George craves toxicity. Dream craves companionship.Together, they are nothing short of explosive.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: after me, the flood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163735
Comments: 206
Kudos: 1264
Collections: MCYT Universe, lewi's fav





	coup de grâce

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for clicking in lmfao thats super sexy of u. if u dont like it and u intend to leave a bad comment pls at least be funny
> 
> hope u like it bby <3
> 
> \- alyssa
> 
> ( dont send to cc's or i'll cry. ik some of yall want them to read fanworks but like. if i find out they read my writing of them dicking each other down i'll actually cry lol )

Dream processes things with anger.

It's a quirk of him everyone is aware of but no one can ever really understand. He's an angry sort of person who thrives in being pissed off, and his rage shows itself in multiple different ways but it's always there, and when it isn't, it's never really far.

Sometimes, the emotion manifests itself in searing words, spat out with careless diction. Sometimes, it shows up as cold stares and hateful silences or orders and demands. And sometimes, it's nothing more than screaming matches, loud and large and ending in tears and broken glass.

Every emotion at some point dissolves until it's nothing but the core of Dream's existence - a hot, burning, passionate anger that feeds off of his very being. Sad turns to defensive turns to angry. Happy turns to insecure turns to angry. Everything comes back home in the end.

He's fire. He touches, scorches, ruins, burns. Turns things to ashes with his glances, with his hands, with his words. He's anger first and human second. People run away from him to avoid his flames. And that's okay.

He is anger.

People know this. People don't entirely understand this. There have been few who have come close. But everything succumbs to flames eventually.

George, on the other hand, is boredom.

He's demure, flighty, polite, and impatient, and after his second cup of alcohol, he can be careless. He gets tired of things easily and has no qualms about abandoning the people that don't entertain him.

It's why he hangs around unpredictable people, loose cannons, unstable crowds. He likes the thrill of being dragged to parties, the exhilaration that comes with being friends with people who aren't afraid of anything.

He likes it, getting high, making out, getting drunk. 

But despite the many parties George goes to with the intent of getting absolutely plastered, he doesn't _have_ an addictive personality.

He likes things for a while and leaves when he stops liking them, no problem. He doesn't get hooked on drugs. He doesn't get hooked on people. It's not like him to be so sentimental. 

George's got cold hands, pretty pink lips, and a sharp smirk. He laughs loudly, unapologetically, but his smiles are guarded and contained, careful not to be too fond or too warm or too attached. 

He's got a habit of rolling his eyes, gets distracted easily with bright and shiny things, and he doesn't display a wanting for much but when he does want something, he gets it. 

He's the type of person people like to be next to in pictures. He's the type of guy people will romanticize the hell out of, the type of guy people are careful of breaking. 

And as delicate and innocent as he might look, George _thrives_ in knowing people will bend over backwards to please him. 

* * *

It's December when George meets Dream.

It's a house party two days before Christmas. A gathering of a multiple different mutual friend groups with cheap cans of beer and music that's not _too_ popular but not _too_ alternative either.

It's organized and clean but the crowd is still fun and lively. George would describe it as less of a college party and more of a big Christmas get-together with a bunch of young adults.

The house is warm, the December night is cold, and George is halfway through his second can of beer. He drinks it room temperature, because the cold ones make him feel like his tongue's all numb.

The friends who came with him have all dispersed into little groups, mingling with other friend groups and joining in on party games. Nothing much catches his attention, so he stays leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, sipping his beer and waiting for something to catch his eye.

A large group of people cheer loudly at something that has happened with the drunk jenga tower (George assumes it fell down) and the song shifts to something more happy. 

Bored and unsure of what to do with himself but not quite up to mingling with his the crowd yet, George peels himself from the wall, pockets another can of beer in his hoodie pocket to drink once he's finished the one he's already opened, and walks out through the back hallway and into the backyard of whoever's hosting the party.

The moment he slides the glass door open, the cold rushes at him all at once.

It's not particularly windy, but the temperature has dropped a drastic amount upon his opening the door and stepping out. It feels like a slap to the face that should have been refreshing but instead felt biting.

For a moment, George debates going back inside before ultimately deciding his body will adjust to the cold and continuing to walk further away from the sliding door. 

He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and drops down to a sit against the beige stucco wall. He stretches his legs out in front of him and the heel of his shoes just barely touch the dewy grass.

Content, George starts idly scrolling through Twitter.

The door slides open again not three minutes later. George looks up.

"Hey."

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Yellow (maybe lime, George can't tell) hoodie. Eyes that are definitely green. Deep, scratchy, welcoming voice. Warm. Freckles all over the bridge of his nose. Pretty.

He's pretty. 

"Hey," George replies. 

The newcomer walks over nonchalantly and slots himself next to George as if he's always belonged there. He slides down the wall to sit, hot breath colliding with the cold air and sending puffs of vapor out in front of him.

George hums in quiet admiration.

"Not one for parties?" The blond asks after he's settled down at George's side. Their shoulders don't touch, but they're close enough to each other where George can almost imagine it. 

He shrugs and takes a moment to think of a response as he pockets his phone to be polite. 

"Didn't feel like joining the groups," he answers truthfully. And for the sake of conversation, George returns, "You?"

He chuckles, low and genuine. The baritone chuckle sends a rush down George's spine.

"Me neither."

Slowly, the blond leans back until his head touches the wall, exposing his neck to the cold and George's wandering eyes.

George doesn't bother to hide how he looks at the stranger's adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows and shares with that same attractive voice, "Wish I could've brought a drink with me, though. I'm too lazy to go back in."

George blinks.

Wordlessly, he takes out the extra can of beer he'd grabbed on his way out of his jacket and offers it. The guy eyes the can before he takes it with a raised brow. His hands are warm when they bump against George's to accept the extra can of beer.

"I was planning on staying out for a while so I grabbed an extra beer," George explains.

The guy hums thankfully.

The can opens with a pop. George watches as the man next to him sips the bubbles that come out from the top before he puts his lips to it and takes a long drink. George follows and takes a drink from his own half full can.

"Why'd you grab a warm one?" He asks George after swallowing.

"Cold ones numb my tongue."

A confused stare. "Isn't that why people like the cold ones?"

George shrugs. "I think you're just a masochist if you like the feeling of your tongue being numbed cold."

His company laughs. A sweet sound, really. Breathless and wheezy. Contagious. George grins at the sound, and when the guy eventually calms down, he offers an eye roll worthy, "Sounds about right, then."

A comfortable silence passes as they both raise their drinks up for another sip. The guy lowers his drink and says, "I'm Dream."

 _Odd name,_ George's internal monologue comments as he nods and smiles. "Congratulations."

Dream rolls his eyes. The grin gracing his lips betrays his amusement. 

"What's your name?" Dream attempts again, words drawled out in mock annoyance. 

And George considers for a moment before he lets out a chortle, decides _why not,_ and says, "George. My name's George."

"George," Dream repeats, slowly with a flick of his tongue. George savors the way his name flows out of Dream's lips, like he's some sort of chef tasting how it sounds, preparing his verdict. "You have a very moanable name."

George freezes. 

Dream turns his head ever so slightly and looks at George with eyes too intense, narrowed slightly and so hyper-focused on him and him only.

Dream licks his lips, tilts his head in gentle offering, and gives George a slow, deliberate once over.

An unspoken offer, and they both know what it entails. 

George thinks on it for a moment, takes the time to check Dream out as well, much to Dream's obvious amusement.

It's a minute later when George finally decides.

He sighs loudly and rolls his eyes, chugging the rest of his beer for confidence before he crushes the empty can and throws it into the darkness of the yard shadows.

Dream tracks the can before his eyes zero back in on George.

George grins. _Fuck it._

And suddenly, he's straddling Dream between his thighs, kissing like they'd known each other longer than the ten minutes they actually have, and they're not _quite_ pressed flush against together but they're touching just enough that their shared breaths warms them from the cold.

As they kiss, hungry and sloppy and demandingly so, George can't help but notice how Dream runs hot, and when he slips his cold hands under Dream's whatever-colored hoodie, the blond shudders from the touch, back arching involuntarily.

They kiss sloppily at first, not used to each other's mouths, before they find what works best.

Dream's a rough and messy and forceful kisser, a stark contrast to George's tentative slow licks at the bottom lip and breaks between kisses to breathe. Whereas George is a passionate and gentle and an excruciating tease, Dream is about strength and dominance and taking what he wants with the power he has.

He bites at George's bottom lip like a man starved and when George goes to pull away to breathe, Dream simply leans in forward to keep him from doing so.

George is unafraid to admit he finds the movement hot. 

George moves away to breathe again, and this time, Dream lets them breaks apart for a moment to say, "Breathe through your nose, you don't have to stop to catch your breath," before he's back, capturing George's mouth in his own.

His pushing elicits a small groan from George and the vibration travels between their mouths, makes their lips all fuzzy. 

Their breaths intermingle in clouds of condensation.

Dream pulls George closer by the waist with a firm hand, and George isn't against confessing the sudden movement makes him _keen_ into the kiss, letting out a high pitched noise of excitement.

Dream certainly heard it, because he's smirking against George's lips and pulling ever closer.

And Dream pulls away.

George whines at the brief loss of contact, but he immediately shuts up when Dream starts peppering his jaw with kisses, getting lower and lower until he's sucking purple hickeys onto George's pale neck.

" _Fuck_ ," George breathes, tangling his hands onto Dream's hair, removing them from Dream's back as Dream bucks his hips upwards. " _Fuck, okay_."

"Inside," Dream whispers, orders, between sucks to George's neck. "Let's go inside. Upstairs."

George hums, focusing on the lips against his neck and taking time to process Dream's words.

"This your house?" He asks, breath hitching when Dream licks at a particularly sensitive part of his jaw.

"It's my buddy's," Dream answers. He doesn't sound as breathless as George, but he's quite clearly enjoying the way George sounds. "He owes me."

And George can't help but giggle. "I doubt he'd appreciate you cashing in a favor to fuck me in his upstairs," he says.

Dream stops kissing him. He bucks his hip upwards forcefully to George's with a small and playful smirk, and the contact is enough to leave George winded and whining, grabbing onto Dream's hair to tether him.

Dream puts his lips against George's hair, just next to his ear, and whispers, "I don't think you should be complaining about where I fuck you when you're this excited, George." He pulls away to stare George right in the eyes. "Unless you want to stay out here."

Dream's voice is low, words drawled out with suggestive tones that match the lust in his eyes. George thinks he's overheating.

Something builds up in George's gut and he can vaguely feel his cock harden in his jeans. He tries not to shift against the denim.

He swallows, nodding erratically. "Fuck. Okay." It's hard trying not to look even more desperate for Dream's touch, struggling not to grind against Dream underneath him. "Yeah. _Upstairs_."

And Dream lets out a low laugh. "George."

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna need to get off my lap if we're going to go anywhere."

* * *

The night passes by hot and fast, and Dream's rough tendencies and overtly cocky attitude mixes oddly well with George's impatience and obedience.

They're a strange pair, but there are _multiple_ orgasms that prove they work just enough to offer each other pleasure. 

And when it's all over and done with, George has got streaks of pleasure tears running down his cheeks and Dream's flushed and hot. They're both sticky with sweat (among other things) and George can _feel_ the soreness of tomorrow ghosting over his ass.

He's grateful Dream didn't listen to him when he begged to skip prep. He's grateful Dream pinned his hands down when he attempted to skip prep despite Dream's warnings, whispering a harsh, "Stop fucking _squirming_."

And he never really stays after hookups so after a moment of laying down in silence, George debates putting his pants back on and leaving without a word, because that's what he usually does after careless party hookups, but he turns to glance at Dream who's back scrolling through his phone like nothing has happened and interest bubbles inside him.

He doesn't know if it's post-nut euphoria or some stupid shit like that, but there's a part of him that takes Dream's indifference to fucking him as a challenge. 

No one's ever ignored him after sex. He's used to soft touches and aftercare and praises of _"You did so good, baby"_ or _"You're so fucking pretty"_ or _"Can I get you something?"_ s.

It's _strange_ not to be met with coddling. It's strange enough to be slightly thrilling, if not a little insulting.

It's _interesting_ , George decides. Intriguing.

George tilts his head and Dream meets his stare. 

"What?" Dream asks. 

George shrugs as a response.

"You're looking at your twitter feed," he says.

Dream raises an eyebrow. Unlike George, he's completely naked under the bed sheets. George had kept his shirt on. 

"Yeah," Dream confirms, confused. "And?"

Another shrug. "You just had your dick in me like ten minutes ago."

And a hint of a smirk ghosts over Dream's lips as he pieces it together.

"You want me to tell you I love you or something?" He teases with an amused smile. "D'you need me to cuddle you to sleep?"

George rolls his eyes and grins. He's strangely turned on by the other man's blunt mocking.

 _I don't think you're special_ , Dream's face says, and George had never heard _that_ from a man before.

It sends a new wave of arousal through his entire body. He narrows his eyes at Dream and grins, sharp enough to cut skin but soft enough to be playful.

He matches Dream's grin.

"What," he starts, "was my mouth not warm enough to deserve some _praise_ , Dreamy?"

It's Dream's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, _come on_ , George."

George snorts at the fondness in Dream's voice, mixed with arousal and dominance. He shakes his pretty little head, the petty man that he is, and he stands from the bed.

George tries to keep steady but can't wobbling a little bit on his legs.He can feel warmth run down his thighs as he stands in place for a minute to keep himself standing.

Dream chuckles at him.

"Where are you going, George?"

George grins back and shrugs. He doesn't answer. Instead, he walks to the front of the bed where his jeans have been discarded earlier and bends down to grab them.

Dream follows the movement like a hawk, licking his lips.

" _Hey_." Dream's voice has dropped again, and George doesn't need to turn around and look to know the stained sheet's now got a tent right above Dream's crotch. "Come back here."

George only pulls his pants back up and starts walking to the door.

It's a tempting order, but George doesn't like getting less than what he's used to without a little fun.

He's _definitely_ horny but he's stubborn in the sense that he would refuse premium dick to prove a point.

But even though he'd made up his mind, George pretends to consider coming back, tapping his chin as if lost in thought and Dream laughs at his antics, low and deep and suggestive.

"I don't know," George says after his minute of dramatic deliberation. "I should be heading back down. _Y'know_. Leave you to your Twitter timeline since you were _so eager_ to get back to it once we finished."

Dream makes a show of turning his phone off. He pats the space on the mattress next to him.

"Don't be difficult, George." His name sounds like an order on Dream's tongue. "Come back here and let me suck you off."

"Say please."

Dream chuckles. "I'm not _begging_ for you, George."

The words make him shudder. 

George smirks. He zips up his fly. Does up his belt. Puts on his jacket over his sweat stained shirt.

George meets Dream's gaze with pretty, half-lidded eyes and he asks, "Do you know how many people here would pay to suck me off, Dreamy?"

Dream lets out a breathless laugh. "You saying you're for sale, George?" 

"I'm saying - " George turns the doorknob and steps out " - I'm not."

He moves to close the door, and he can hear Dream call after him with an amused, "Oh, you _tease_!"

George laughs. "Bye, Dream!" 

* * *

They meet again a couple hours before New Years.

Different house, roughly the same people.

It's a lot more energetic than the Christmas party. The music's louder, comprising of classic bops and bangers, and alcohol stronger than canned beer are served in red solo cups. 

George spots Dream first from across the room, and it's really fucking funny because the idiot's wearing the same fucking maybe-yellow-maybe-green hoodie George had sucked him off in less than two weeks ago.

When Dream finally notices George, he seems taken aback, but the shock turns into narrowed gaze and upturned lips as he narrows his eyes and makes his way towards George, avoiding the elbows of the people talking around the room. 

George is holding a red solo cup, full of punch mixed with vodka, and Dream's holding an ice cold can of beer.

Dream meets him casually, eyes full of mischief and challenge, and George only sips from his cup, maintaining sly eye contact as he swallows the drink and lets a drop drip down from the side of his lips. 

Dream rolls his eyes, but he follows the drop as it slides off George's chin. He swallows.

" _Tease_ ," he mutters just loud enough for George to hear. It's an echo of how their last meeting ended. 

"Dick," George retorts, eliciting a small chuckle from Dream.

And the room around them blurs away until they're the only people there, staring into each other's eyes with unwavering gazes and tension so thick, you could cut through it.

Dream raises a brow again, the same way he did last time in the backyard of his friend's house. He nods towards the bathroom door.

An unspoken invitation is held out to George with lustful eyes, and George so _desperately_ wants to take it and be dicked down, but he remembers their last rendezvous and how it ended.

He remembers Dream's disinterest after they fucked, how _thrilling_ it felt being denied attention once the sex was done, to be observed with hungry eyes rather than with admiration, to be seen as a person rather than a fragile piece of heart.

He recalls how _interesting_ the challenge of making Dream beg for him had been. 

So George blinks up innocently at Dream and smiles. 

" _Dream_ ," George scolds teasingly. "The party's just started."

Dream frowns, amused annoyance clear in his features.

"Are you saying you don't want to?" He asks, and it's funny because it's so _obvious_ to the both of them that George does want to.

George grins.

He really fucking wants to. But he wants to deny Dream the satisfaction of hearing that. So he sways softly to the music playing over the speakers - a Queen song, upbeat and lovely, he thinks maybe it's _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ \- and shrugs, smirking.

"I can have anyone I want in this place," George says, and it's true. "Why do you think you're so special when there are tons of other easy pretty faces here?" 

Dream steps forward.

George steps back with a self-satisfied smirk, smiling wider when he feels his back press against the wall and finds Dream towering over him with an inconvenienced frown on his face.

George meets Dream's stony gaze easily, his confidence a worthy opponent against Dream's intimidation. Dream places a hand on the wall, directly next to George's head, effectively boxing George in. 

And he leans in, ever so slightly. "I'm better."

"Says who?" George taunts, voice faltering a bit when he feels the warmth of Dream's breath close to his own.

Dream shrugs. He smiles but none of the words he says matches the expression. He looks innocent, but when he opens his mouth, nothing less than sins come out. 

"Said you, crying under me last week," Dream says, looking satisfied with how George has started to falter.

His voice has gone low again, and George goes half hard just hearing him speak like that, so close.

Dream's words aren't insult but he says it like they are, calling George needy and pathetic with his tone. George vaguely understands the affect of that on his crotch, and a part of him wonders if he has some undiscovered degradation kink.

Dream continues.

"Said you begging for me to go faster and crying to skip prep because you're impatient and _needy_. Said all the noises you made when I'd just _barely_ touched you the same way you're whimpering right now when I'm not even touching you. Says you squirming at this moment, too stubborn to swallow your pride and admit _I'm better_."

He shifts his face so he's in front of George again, staring eye to eye. So close. 

George's eyes are half lidded, but there's still a glint of a challenge in them, and Dream seems to take personal pleasure in seeing the fight in his eyes slowly be suffocated with desire.

He leans ever closer so the smell of his breath hits George's face, vodka punch intermingling with cheap liquor.

And he leans back just as George is moving forwards for the kiss, dropping the hand boxing George in, and bringing his voice back to normal as if nothing happened.

"But go ahead and fuck someone willing to wait." He starts walking away with a smile, leaving George sputtering. "I'll be here _all night_ when he disappoints you." 

George gasps, desperate for the kiss, calling after Dream with frantic, " _Fuck_ , no, wait, _come back here_ -"

Dream grins.

George fumes, glaring holes at Dream's back as the other man walks away, back to talking with a group playing beerpong on the kitchen table, staring at George with a smug expression as George tries to suffocate the erection that had been growing during their conversation.

He gives in a minute later with mild annoyance and swallows his pride, stomping over to Dream, much to the other boy's amusement. 

He grabs Dream by the front of his hoodie and drags him over to the bathroom, Dream chuckling all the way.

" _George_ ," he scolds with obvious enthusiasm, referencing George's response when he first offered. "The party's just started."

George shuts bathroom the door with a glare. He gets onto his knees, unzips Dream's jeans, and pulls down his jeans with his boxers, exposing Dream's erection.

Dream laughs at his rushed movements.

"You're such a _dick_ ," George insults harshly, spitting onto his hand.

Dream frowns, but his eyes sparkle with a victorious joy.

"Careful with your mouth there, Georgie," he warns, combing a hand through George's hair as he rubs spit-lubricated hands together. And he grabs a fistful of George's hair and pulls back, just enough to force George's eyes to meet his, relishing the defiance. "Cut the attitude or _nothing's_ happening tonight."

George glares. "Let go of my hair or I'm not blowing you."

Dream grins. He pulls George's head back even farther, grip tightening. Against his will, George lets out a high and breathy moan. It's silent again until Dream arches an eyebrow at the noise.

"Fuck, George," he whistles. "Didn't know you were into that."

George furrows his eyebrows. "Neither did I," he admits.

And Dream smiles. George wants to slap the smugness off his face. "You're welcome."

He rolls his eyes, refrains from squeezing Dream's dick hard as revenge, and keeps his touch gentle and soft when he does hold onto Dream's base.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," he sighs, defeated. "Just shut up and enjoy this."

George puts his lips to Dream's tip, and Dream leans his head back against the door. _"Fuck. I'm enjoying."_

And it's Dream who leaves first this time.

He's swirling his tongue around George's tip one moment and when George announces with erratic breaths and his legs shaking, "Close - _Dream, I'm_ -" he pulls his mouth away.

" _No!"_ George cries. "Dream!"

But he's already stood up, surveying his tussled blond hair in the mirror, wiping the cum around his lips with the back of his hand as George whimpers pathetically on the counter.

"I was close!"

Dream glances at him with an unimpressed stare. "And?"

George suppresses the whine that threatens to escape his throat. "And fucking _finish_ , prick!"

Dream tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at George. He looks down at George who's too preoccupied craving release to fight back, and he frowns.

He places both hands on either side of George on the counter and leans down, so they're at the same height, impossibly close but not quite touching. George can see the satisfaction glimmering in Dream's intense greens when he surveys George in all his needy whining.

"You could get any guy in this party to suck you off, remember?" He raises a hand to cup George's face, wet with tears.

" _Dream_." It sounds like a beg. It is. " _Please_."

Dream smiles. "You're needy, aren't you?"

He closes the distance between his and George's lips, swipes his tongue in George's mouth, makes the man sat on the counter taste what could have been. And he pulls away.

He takes George's discarded jeans from the floor and digs out his phone. George sees just enough to see him mess with something on his contacts app.

Adding his number, George realizes, but he doesn't care much seeing as how he still had his dick out and it was _clearly_ being neglected.

Dream taps on _add contact picture_. He raises the phone. It flashes, capturing George in his moment of need, tear streaks down his pretty flushed face, cock out.

And he nods approvingly as he puts the phone back in George's trouser pockets. Hope skyrockets in George's chest when Dream surveys him again, expecting taller man to _continue what he fucking began._

But the hope dies immediately.

"Think of your words before you decide to play hard to get, yeah?" Dream unlocks the bathroom door. He exits.

George curses and his breath hitches. "Fucking Dream."

* * *

_**George - 01/01/19 12:02 AM**_

_fuck you_

_had to jack myself off in the fuckinf bathroom_

_at NEW YEARS_

_fuck you_

_i hate you so fucking much_

_ur such shit_

_prick_

_**Dream - 01/01/19 12:03 AM**_

_don't act like ur tough shit next time and i wont leave u hanging, yeah?_

_**George - 01/01/19 12:03 AM**_

_i gave you the best bkowjob of ur fucking life and you repay me by leaving me to start off the new year with an unsatisfying jackoff sesh FUCK YOU_

_who says there's gonna be a next time_

_**Dream - 01/01/19 12:05 AM**_

_i do_

_send me the pic i took of u george_

_**George - 01/01/19 12:05 AM**_

_eat shit and die_

_[sent an image attachment]_

* * *

Dream texts George in the middle of a date a week later.

The person he's out on a date with is older. 

He's sweet and easily flustered and George has the sneaking suspicion that he kisses soft and intimate. He gives off affectionate vibes, and really, he's the perfect guy to be going out with.

He asks for permission before he takes. Asks for confirmation before he does.

And George really wants to like him, but he can't help being _bored_.

He feigns interest at the guy's niche hobbies (fucking _fishing)_ , laughs politely when he thinks there should be laughs, and nods to show acknowledgment, but inside, George is fighting off a yawn and fucking _losing_.

So he can't really blame himself for the grin that appears on his face when his phone buzzes.

_**Dream - 01/12/19 9:48 AM**_

_hey_

_come over_

_[sent location]_

George kills his smile when his date looks at him with an odd expression and replies discreetly under the table.

_**George - 01/12/19 9:49 AM**_

_busy rn_

_**Dream - 01/12/19 9:49 AM**_

_doing what_

_**George - 01/12/19 9:50 AM**_

_my date if im lucky ;)_

_**Dream - 01/12/19 9:50 AM**_

_hes obviously not worth your time_ 😒😕

_**George - 01/12/19 9:51 AM**_

_what makes you say that :/_

_**Dream - 01/12/19 9:52 AM**_

_ur on a date with him rn but ur still texting me_

George rolls his eyes. How fucking _cocky_ _was_ this guy?

_**George - 01/12/19 9:53 AM**_

 _bye dream ttyl_ 😐

_**Dream - 01/12/18 9:53 AM**_

_theres a key under the houseplant next to the mat_

_let urself in yeah ?_

**_George - 01/12/19 9:54 AM_**

 _dream_ 😕

_dont be annoying_

_im on a date_

_**Dream - 01/12/19 9:55 AM**_

_george._

_i think ive made it pretty clear by now but i'll spell it out just for you all right sweetheart?_

_i don't care about your date._

_and clearly, neither do you_

_so come over_

_right now_

_and let yourself in_

_ok?_

George groans internally and tries not to blush. He turns his phone off without answering Dream's texts and pockets the device.

But still, he stands from his seat.

The man on the opposite side of the table raises a questioning brow at the sudden movement.

"Anything wrong?" He asks, and George _hates_ how sickly sweet and understanding he sounds. He despises the concern.

Nevertheless, for the sake of manners, George displays a convincing smile.

"Yeah," George answers, fake smile still plastered on his face, voice steady and warm. "It's just my friend. He sounds like he really needs me right now. So sorry to cut this short, but I really have to go."

His date furrows his eyebrows in clear worriment. He nods.

"No, it's no problem at all," he assures, and George fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Go ahead. I'll take care of the check."

George smiles. "Thank you. Today's been wonderful."

"Pleasure was all mine, I assure you. Go take care of your friend."

"Right."

Once back in his car, George pulls out his phone again.

_**George - 01/12/19 10:01 AM**_

_omw_

* * *

Neither of them make an exit the third night they hook up at Dream's house. 

Instead, George slots himself to Dream's side on Dream's mattress and scrolls through Twitter while Dream does the same, his free hand massaging George's scalp.

His fingertips are calloused, his touch is a bit more forceful, like he doesn't know how strong he is when he's holding George. George likes it. He doesn't bother to hide it.

"Getting used to not being pampered after sex?" Dream jokes offhandedly when George doesn't complain about being ignored for the Twitter timeline like the first time, and George has to scoff.

"Says the man with his hand in my hair?" He shoots back with a smirk, continuing to scroll through his feed. "If you're going to tell me off for expecting praises after sex, maybe don't reward me for it, idiot."

Dream rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. The slight twitch of the sides of his lips betrays his amusement. "You're really fucking annoying for someone who wants so much."

He says it with a convincing enough tone that almost makes George believe it, but the way he keeps his hand where it is, entangled in George's hair proves he doesn't really care how bratty George gets.

George leans into the touch subconsciously.

"Not my fault every man I've ever met insists on giving me what I want," he argues with a pout. And he turns his head to look at Dream before asking, "Actually, are you sure you're not straight? You're the only guy who's been _this_ difficult with giving me a good fuck."

Dream pulls at his hair harshly. George's breath hitches.

" _Watch it_ ," George snarls, glaring up at Dream who seems a little too excited with the sounds he's making. "You _know_ I'm into that."

"Yeah," he snorts. "That's sort of the point." He loosens his grip on George's hair. "I just want to see how ruined you can get." 

That catches George off guard. "Huh?"

"You," Dream says with a shrug. "People love spoiling you, yeah? I mean, I can understand. You're pretty. Cute accent. And you make the nicest sounds. Talented mouth. I understand the urge to worship you completely."

"Okay," George drawls carefully, trying to understand. "So fucking _dote_ over me if you think I'm all that." He rolls his brown eyes like it's obvious, and it should be. "Tell me I'm pretty when I cum. Do what I want you to do to me when we fuck. I can promise you it's not that difficult."

Dream side eyes him, presses his fingers deeper onto George's scalp, licks his lips slowly when George whimpers. 

"I think you've had enough people doting over you."

Dream rolls over so he's on top of George, straddling the man laying down, skin on skin, heart beats rising together. "You need to be put in your place. Roughed up. Bruised. Torn apart."

George blushes at the contact, pink spreading on his cheeks, to his neck, over his chest, _lower_. When Dream grabs his wrist and pins it overhead, he wonders if the man can feel the erratic heartbeat on the pulse point.

Dream continues as George starts to squirm under him.

"People have been way too soft on you. They're all scared they're gonna break you cause you're so fragile looking." Dream leans down, kisses hickeys onto George's collarbone, licks at the purple when it forms. "But, from what I see, you deserve to be fucking ruined."

George gasps at the feel of Dream's tongue. "Y-Yeah?"

"Mhm." The hum sends vibrations all the way up to George's throat. "You're not a fucking glass doll, George. You're a person. And I'm going to ruin you. And you're going to fucking like it. Okay?"

George swallows. He can feel the wrist Dream's restrained start losing circulation. His hold will undoubtedly leave bruises in the morning. George can't bring himself to care.

"Okay."

Dream captures George's mouth in his and pulls away before George has time to reciprocate. He stares George down with intense eyes. "And George?"

George whines, tries to keep kissing, whines again when Dream tightens his grip as if to say _Behave._ "What?"

Dream's face is entirely serious when he pecks George's jaw and says, "Don't go on any more dates."

George nods. He couldn't give less of a _fuck_ about dates right now. "Okay. Whatever. Just - _Keep doing what you're doing_."

Dream doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

_**Dream - 02**_ _ **/28/19 5:54 AM**_

_hey :)_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:00 AM**_

_just woke up_

whyre you up so early 😕 ??

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:03 AM**_

_went to the gym_

_**George - 02/28/29 7:04 AM**_

_gross_

_whats up :]_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:05 AM**_

_u free today?_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:07 AM**_

_for a dick appointment or just to hang out ?_

_either way no srry_ 😢😱😱

_coding today_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:07 AM**_

_same code u were working on last week_ 😕

_**George - 02/28/19 7:08 AM**_

_yeah_ 😞

 _its kicking my ass_ 😁👍

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:09 AM**_

😐 _i already told you what was wrong with it last time didnt i_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:09 AM**_

_dont fault me for not paying attention to your coding lesson when u were naked while u were saying it dream :/_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:10 AM**_

_youre such an idiot_ 😕😒

_im coming over_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:10 AM**_

_no_

_ur gonna spend the whole time being horny and trying to fuck me again_

_ur distracting_

_i need this done by tomorrow_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:11 AM**_

_i can control myself dumbass_

_im just bored rn_ 😐

_**George - 02/28/19 7:12 AM**_

_u said that last 3 times and then what did u do_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:12 AM**_

_i fucked you_ 🏄🏄🏄🏄🏄 _< \- cowabunga lol_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:12 AM**_

_you fucked me_ 😐😐

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:13 AM**_

_well._ 😒🏃

_that time was entirely your fault_

_all i did was sit there_

_and you hopped on me_

_you have no one to blame but urself_ 😁👍

_**George - 02/28/19 7:14 AM**_

_ur so annoying_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:14 AM**_

_r u at ur house_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:15 AM**_

_yeah_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:16 AM**_

_cool_

_omw_ 🏃🏃 _just headed to starbucks first_

_whats ur drink bby_

_or do you want a cappuccino again_

_**George - 02/28/19 7:17 AM**_

_oh for fucks sake dream_ 😐

_wdym youre on ur way i just said dont come over_

_if we end up fucking and i dont finish my code im cutting off your dick_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:17 AM**_

_what do u want to drink george_ 😐

_**George - 02/28/19 7:17 AM**_

_triple shot iced americano pls_

_thanks btw_ _:]_

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:18 AM**_

_get the lube ready :)_

_**George - 01/28/19 7:19 AM**_

_fuck off dream_ 😐🚶

_**Dream - 02/28/19 7:32 AM**_

_im in the driveway_

_open the door rn please_

_i wont be able to knock with the drinks :)_

* * *

Days with Dream pass in a blur of enjoyment and pleasure and George looks back one day and realizes he doesn't remember when Dream stopped being just a casual hookup and started becoming a partner.

He doesn't remember when Dream's morning messages stopped being suggestive and started being fond, doesn't remember when texts of "I'm coming over" stopped being associated with sex and started being associated with watching as many episodes of Criminal Minds as they can until one of them passes out.

Often, they sleep next to each other. Sometimes, they're fully clothed and doing nothing but cuddling up against each other, enjoying the warmth and company.

George can't remember when Dream's house started becoming more of a home than his own, but it feels nice, the company. He can tell Dream enjoys his company, too.

In tender moments of the night, when they whisper sweet nothings into each others ears or when they retell mindless stories to each other, Dream sometimes opens up more about his past relationships.

George quickly finds out they are more similar than he had originally thought, finding out Dream's relationships were, just like his, also barely ever stable for long, his partners usually walking out or getting dumped thanks to Dream's destructive tendencies.

George finds comfort in knowing neither of them are perfect little angels. He finds a fucked up sense of safety knowing they're both just shitty people who do shitty things to the people they care about.

Dream is anger at his core. George is disinterest. They feed off of each other's destruction with sweet, broken eroticism. 

It's _nice_ , George decides, and it's rare for George to want something so ordinary as a relationship but he supposes Dream just brings out the rarer parts of him.

And it's not like much has changed, will change, now that they're fonder to each other. 

Dream is still demanding and pushy and unafraid of breaking George, but they do domestic things without fear of getting boring, getting tired.

But the looming sense of becoming more than just fuck buddies holds itself over George, and as nice as his and Dream's newly discovered routine is, he finds himself worried of being too emotionally absent to enjoy how ordinary it all is.

He doesn't know what he and Dream are. Doesn't know if Dream has noticed how much closer they've gotten towards each other. Doesn't know if Dream's thought about the very same things he's thinking about right now.

He confronts Dream about it.

They're watching an episode of Criminal Minds.

It's an episode about Reid and some cute assassin chick in a restaurant. George is barely paying attention. Dream seems invested in the story and the new unsub, not taking his eyes off the screen whenever she's talking.

Offhandedly, Dream comments, "Aubrey Plaza's really pretty."

George blurts out, "What are we?"

"Shit, then," Dream curses with a laugh, breathless as George shifts his body to stare at him with a serious expression. "Okay, never mind. She's not pretty."

"I'm not _jealous_ , idiot." George rolls his eyes. "I agree. She is pretty. But what are we?"

Dream raises an amused brow, meeting George's frown with genuine confusion. "What kind of question is that?"

George's frown deepens. "The kind that needs to be answered."

And Dream sighs, pulling his gaze from the TV and looking at George in the eyes with a bored gaze, leveling with him. "I don't know, George. We fucked yesterday, what does that make us?"

George purses his lips.

"All right, let's narrow it down." He looks up at the ceiling in thought. "You have a toothbrush in my bathroom and I have one in yours. We've both got spare clothes in each other's closets. We're not fucking anybody else - wait, _are_ you fucking anybody else?"

"No, George."

"Okay, we're only fucking each other. You don't want me dating anyone, I don't want you dating anyone. We know each other's favorite foods, starbucks orders, kinks. And we hang out together but sex isn't always necessary."

Dream furrows his eyebrows.

A long pause.

"Holy fuck." Dream's eyes widen. "Are we boyfriends?"

George shrugs. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

He considers it for a moment, looking at George thoughtfully with a stare that makes George put effort in not blushing. "Sure as hell aren't _just_ friends," Dream mutters.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, ' _yeah_ ,' idiot. I've had my dick in you."

"Oh. Yeah. Fuck." George runs a hand through his hair as the thought is fully processed in his head. "Are we _boyfriends_?"

Dream blinks. "Do you _want_ us to be?"

George pauses. "Okay," he decides after a moment. "Sure."

Dream laughs. "I'm gonna need a more enthusiastic 'sure' than that."

He rolls his eyes.

"Sure!" His voice is pitched up dramatically high, and Dream chuckles at it. He turns back to the television and laughs at some shitty joke the unsub has made.

And it's funny. Because nothing's really changed.

* * *

"You ever get scared of being too pedestrian?"

Dream raises his head from between George's thighs, releasing George's cock from his mouth with an audible _pop_. He wipes his lips with the sheets and raises a brow at George.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he drawls, eyes narrowed, skin shining with sweat and other things. "Am I _boring_ you?"

George rolls his eyes.

"Just wanted to have a conversation," he says, and Dream gives him an unimpressed look, obviously not convinced.

"Mid blowjob?" Dream asks, deadpan. "Sure. _Perfect_ time to have a conversation."

He gets up from the mattress and walks over to the other side of the room, picking up the hoodie and boxers he'd thrown there earlier and slipping them on with experienced hands.

He walks back to the bed but doesn't continue sucking George off, instead settling himself next to George.

"Sorry," the shorter of the two apologizes, but he doesn't sound too apologetic at all. "Didn't think you'd be so offended." And after a beat of silence, he adds, "You were _good_ , don't worry. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

And Dream softens, allowing himself to scoot closer to George and lean his head against bare shoulders. "It's fine, whatever. I'll just suck you another time. What's up?"

George shrugs. "Dunno."

"Obviously you do." He doesn't sound like he's ready to drop it. He stares at George with a stare that says _you interrupted this blowjob and I'm not letting you off until you explain why_. "If you didn't, you'd be moaning and not asking weird questions like a fucking _weirdo_."

George sighs defeatedly. He looks up at Dream, annoyed at the pushiness. Still, he explains because it seems easier than dealing with Dream's pushy behavior for the rest of the night.

"Pedestrian," he repeats, slower this time. "You scared of the possibility we're becoming more and more of it?"

Dream laughs. "What, are you scared of becoming predictable? Never been boring your entire life?" 

They're rhetorical, but George can't help but answer as he stares blankly up at the ceiling.

"Never," he says, and his voice sounds hollower than he means it to be. "I've never stayed in the same place this long. Dunno what boring looks like."

Dream raises his brows at the question. "You moved often?"

It's a valid assumption to have made, but it's not what George means.

"No. I mean like... mentally, you know? I never stay with anyone long. People like to tell me I leave at the first sign of a threat and blow things out of proportion to justify being a bitch. Never been in a relationship long enough to become boring and predictable."

Dream looks like he doesn't quite get it.

"Okay," he mumbles. And it's endearing how obvious it is he wants to understand. "So... you're scared of being familiar, then? Like, familiar with... me?"

George shrugs. He doesn't understand either.

"I've never _needed_ to be familiar with _anything_. There's always been a reason to pack my shit and move on to the next thrill." He lets out a confused sigh. "But now things are going great, and _being with you_ has been going great, and they've been great for so long that I've forgotten how it feels for things not to be great."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dream sounds like he doesn't know whether to be supportive or insulted. George can't blame him. He supposes he's being confusing. "You're finally in a position where you don't need to run away from something because there's no reason to."

"I guess. Feels wrong staying in one place though, though." George sighs. The frustration seeps into his breath. "Running away from people has been the only thing I've ever known. I guess I just miss it."

And Dream frowns. He scoots away, traps George in an intense stare. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

Dream scoffs, face hardening into something George can't quite pin to one emotion, but he recognizes it's nothing good. He looks almost angry.

"Yeah, well, it sure fucking sounds like you want to." He laughs, bitter. "This has got to be the most _pussy_ way to break up with someone."

"I'm not breaking up with you!" George regrets ever speaking about it at all. "What are you talking about?"

"You just sat here talking about how you'd rather be miserable somewhere else, running away from your problems, than stay here with me and be _bored_."

His words are spat out harshly, the careful understanding from before gone. "That _sounds_ like a breakup to me, George. And if not, it's still _pretty fucking insulting_."

George frowns.

"I didn't mean it like that." It's not a beg or a plead. George doesn't beg for things he doesn't think are worth begging for. It's a simple statement. 

When Dream stays quiet, he repeats, "I _swear_ I didn't mean it like that."

He thinks maybe he's being self destructive, bringing this up now. Thinks maybe a part of him is subconsciously picking out the worst ways to word this to make Dream hate him. Thinks maybe this conversation was unnecessary.

He reaches out to touch Dream's face. Dream swats away his hand. He reaches out again, determined. This time, Dream captures his wrist in a tight grip, cuts off circulation on his pulse point. He can feel tomorrow's bruise acutely forming. The touch sparks something in George. 

"How else did you mean it?"

"We've been together seven months now," George whispers, almost breathless, hyper aware of the hand tightening it's hold on his wrist as he speaks, hyper aware of how much he likes it. "I hang out more at your place than I do in mine. And it's been great, but I don't want it to become too good. I don't want us to be all domestic and shit, okay? I don't want you to go soft and boring on me."

Dream scoffs. He laughs without humor. "So not a break up, just a threat?"

"Blame a guy for not wanting to be bored," George scoffs with an eye roll.

Dream tightens his grip again.

"Watch your fucking attitude." His voice sounds gruff. Low. George likes it a little more than he should. "And don't worry about me going soft on you. You're cute. But I don't plan on treating you like you're a fucking glass doll."

Pause.

"And if you do?"

"If I what?"

"Stop being interesting."

Dream rolls his eyes before he meets George's gaze again, stare uncaring. George sees a hint of anger behind his eyes despite the calm facade he puts up.

"Then leave. _I don't care_."

The disinterest makes George's heart beat faster.

"You're flippant," he says.

"You're flighty," Dream returns.

George eyes him up. "Hey. Dream."

"What."

"Stop worrying like I'm your schoolgirl crush and continue my fucking blowjob, please."

Dream smiles.

* * *

George wouldn't describe Dream "protective" as much as he would describe him "possessive."

It's similar enough to be confused with each other, but George doesn't like getting them confused when Dream is the subject.

George's exes and past hookups have been protective. They've been careful with him. Watchful and vigilant and caring. They made sure never to leave bruises when they kissed and apologized when they did. 

Treating him as if he was an object of desire that needed constant attention rather than a person.

Always so fucking gentle, always so fucking solicitous, always so hilariously heartbroken when George left them like they weren't worth shit.

Dream, however, is _possessive_.

He's rough and unapologetic and he doesn't _care_ if he leaves bruises or leaves George breathless or denies him what he wants to the point of tears. He doesn't care if he accidentally hurts George.

But he does care about keeping George with him.

It shows in the way he tangles his hands in George's hair, in the way he glares at the people who have the gall to look at George with loving eyes, in the way he holds George in place when they kiss, not breaking apart until they eventually have to breathe, and in the way he buys George things that makes other people know he's Dream's.

And in that way, George is _enamored_ with him.

And in that way, Dream is _infatuated_ with him.

"Tell me you're in love with me," George orders one morning when they're sat at their starbucks booth, drinks in hand.

Dream tenses up across from him, but he recovers quickly enough, raising a brow and frowning into his drink.

He lowers the cup from his lips, meets George's stare, and says, "I'm in love with you."

"Oh." George doesn't attempt to hide his shock.

"Didn't think you'd say it," he admits, and Dream smiles, almost victoriously. George purses his lips. "Say it again."

"I'm in love with you."

"Again."

"George," Dream drawls out dramatically, rolling his eyes with a fondness that makes George's heart flutter more than it should. _"I'm in love with you."_

"Fuck. You're cute."

"Your turn. Say it back."

"It back."

Dream chuckles as George sticks out his tongue childishly. "You're so annoying."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell me you love me again."

"I love you, George."

George laughs, and it's a rare moment of tenderness where he isn't quite as afraid to express his affection for the man across him. He smiles fondly, leaves himself unguarded.

"You sound really pretty," he says, and the warmth seeps into his voice like honey. "You look really pretty. Everything about you is pretty. It's unfair, honestly."

"Oh, yeah?" Dream prompts. "How?"

"Dunno. Didn't think something so pretty could be _so fucking destructive_."

"You think I'm destructive?" He says it with a self-satisfied smirk. Smug and sharp and unreasonably attractive. It makes a blush rush up George's faces.

"I think the way you push me around is destructive," George explains, voice tender, vulnerable. "I didn't think being ruined could look so good until I met you."

Dream simpers, eyes shining in clear amusement. "Sounds masochistic," he jokes, and George has to laugh.

"What's that make you? A fucking sadist? Getting off on me crying or something?"

"Oh, _come on_ , George." His mock annoyance does a bad job at hiding his obvious affection, and George has to suffocate his smile at how warm Dream sounds. "You make us sound toxic." 

"It's okay," George assures. "Feels good."

Dream takes a sip of his drink before he answers, grins at George with a sly stare. "You look really good wrecked."

"I bet I do."

"You do."

"I'll take your word for it."

Dream's possessive.

He's proprietorial enough to be fond of having George be _his_ but not protective enough in the sense that he doesn't care if what George does when he's not around.

He likes being in a relationship.

He likes their occasional talks where they can be vulnerable with each other. He likes sex and he likes cuddling and he likes knowing George is interested with him.

He likes George. He loves George. He's not afraid of admitting it.

"I love you."

George arches a brow. "I didn't ask you to say it this time."

Dream only smiles. "I know."

* * *

The months slip by quick and George is relinquished by Summer and greeted by Fall.

Fall's hands aren't cold, but they're getting there.

Tree leaves fall in hues of orange and red, and George's favorite thing about them is the way Dream's eyes light up when he steps on the fallen leaves and they crunch under his feet.

It's a childish thing to be amused by. Something so small as the crunching of leaves. George loves it when they're accompanied by Dream's giggles. Loves it even more when Dream catches him staring and gives him a kiss.

There are a lot of things he likes about Dream attributed with Fall. 

The way Dream gets excited when Starbucks drinks shift into the seasonal Fall flavors, how he refuses to drink anything that doesn't have the word "pumpkin" in it's name. The way Dream asks George to put his scarf on for him because he's not sure how to tie it properly. The way he buys George Fall-themed jumpers. The way he insists on buying Patches the seasonal cat clothes whenever they're at the store. The way the house smells of cinnamon and maple from the wax burners. 

If he's being honest, George thinks it's not as good as Winter, who is gentle but biting and brings out the best in people. Dream argues it's not as good as Summer, who is unapologetic and fun. But they settle on Fall as a couple because it's a good little middle ground for their clashing tastes.

He meets some of Dream's friends on a labor day barbecue in someone's backyard near the woods during Fall and wonders what took so long. He brings some of his, too. Dream's friends fuss over him the same way George's fuss over Dream.

And it's amusing. It's an experience neither of them have ever really known. Meet the friends. It's new territory. It's fun.

The air is brisk and fresh, far from city air. The trees from where the forests begin are a vibrant color, and George can't quite see what red leaves look like, but from what he can see, it's nothing short of amazing.

The skies are cloudy, music plays but is drowned out by people's conversations. It smells of barbecue and hot dogs and steak. Running around the grounds are someone's dogs.

"How's it going?" Dream asks when George walks over to him, passing the other man a beer, room temperature.

"Your friends are sweet," George reports with a bright grin. "I think they like me more than you do."

Dream lets out a noise of amusement, shoving George playfully. "I think you're an idiot."

"Karl spent like twenty minutes trying to make me the perfect hot dog," George says with a grin. "He was getting frustrated so I lied and told him I was vegetarian to keep him from kicking the grill. And so he took me to the salad bar and spent thirty minutes making me a salad."

Dream laughs, throwing his head back as he does.

"They're not used to meeting my partners," he explains, chuckling.

George raises a brow in interest. He smiles, smug. "Ooh, that makes me special, doesn't it?"

Dream rolls his eyes. "It does."

"Lucky me." He pecks Dream lightly on the lips, relishes how normal they look, pulls away. "How have mine been treating you?"

"They're funny," Dream says with a knowing chortle. "Alex called me your boy toy."

George looks up innocently, raising a challenging brow. "Are you not?"

"Said last night's bottom?" Dream retorts easily.

George raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, _chill_."

They share a laugh. 

"Your friends really like to objectify me, I think." Dream sounds absolutely delighted, and George has to roll his eyes because yeah, it _sounds_ like his friends all right. "Wilbur tried to make a move on me. He called me daddy."

"Sounds like him," George sighs.

"He's cute. I might take him up on it."

George elbows him. He groans through his laughs.

They settle a bit and George takes the calm and comfortable silence to look around the yard. He drinks.

"Never knew so many people celebrated labor day," he admits.

Dream shrugs. "It's like the fourth of July," he explains. "No one really cares about it, we just wanna get together, eat, and maybe blow shit up, you know?"

George hums. "We have fireworks night in England."

"What's that?"

"Guy Fawkes night."

"Like Guy Fieri?"

George rolls his eyes. "Like the guy from when people tried to blow up Parliament."

"Oh, I know what that one is. That's from minecraft, right?"

"What? Dream, are you ...are you fucking talking about _parchment_?"

"Yeah, that's what you said. They tried to blow up parchment."

"You're an idiot."

Warmth fills George's chest, spreading and spreading all around but not in the way warmth spreads when he hooks up with some random guy at a party. 

It's similar, but not really. It feels lighter, but at the same time, heavy with meaning. Fonder, softer, sweeter.

Dream elbows him lightly, shaking the shorter man from his thoughts, and he asks something about Guy Fawkes night that has George rolling his eyes all over again. And the warmth is back, pulling at his chest and making him feel all fuzzy and smiley. 

A voice at the back of George's head whispers a soft, _"Maybe this is love,"_ and it's such a ridiculous thought that George almost dismisses it. 

He's not the type of person to fall in love with normalcy. He's not the type of person who fall in love, _full stop_. He's supposed to be the personification of _"Here for a good time, not a long time,"_ and if he isn't, then _what is he?_

No. It couldn't be love. 

But Dream smiles and chuckles under his breath, head shaking slightly, and his heart starts beating faster, faster, faster, until it's hitting at his rib cage, threatening to break free.

And it's love. 

He is is nothing short of _fucking_ _terrified_. 

Unease collects in George's stomach. He steps a little bit farther away from Dream. And he takes a moment to convince himself it's not love. He takes a moment to convince himself he hates it.

* * *

The calmness of their relationship eventually plateaus the way rough lake waters become stagnant after a storm the further into Fall they get. 

Things start to say the same, lulled into repetitive routine, a largely monotonous back and forth not unlike the rocking of a baby's cradle.

George can't come up with the right words to describe it, really, but he's reminded of their descent into dullness in other things, like long California road trips where you have to drive through one of the expansive deserts 

It's nice for a while. It's exciting to be somewhere you usually don't see. You start to appreciate how scenic it all is, looking through your windshield admiring all the different colors of the sand, all the abandoned little ghost towns you come across.

But at some point, you grow bored of the sand and start craving the city. Start to miss the traffic, the pollution. 

California deserts are funny like that.

They grow boring at about the same way George grows restless. 

And _maybe_ part of his restlessness began at Labor Day, when he realized he loved Dream and found he didn't _want_ to.

 _Maybe_ , since Labor Day, George had been picking apart their relationship, looking for the things he doesn't like and hyper-focusing on them to keep himself from falling deeper in love with Dream because he feared commitments.

 _Maybe_ , it wasn't fucking working and that frustrates him.

It doesn't fucking work because George treasures the Netflix nights and the holiday gatherings and the intimate kisses and morning after bruises and hickeys. He adores being close, hearing the words "I love you" every morning when he wakes up and every night when he goes to sleep.

He loves what he and Dream have.

And as he stands under the shower head, he tries his hardest to scrub the discontent that threatens to suffocate him, scrubbing at pale skin until it's red and irritated. The fact that it doesn't work makes him antsier than he had been before he'd gotten in the shower.

Even more uncomfortable and extra soapy, George abruptly turns the water off.

He slides open the shower door and walks out without drying himself off, letting the water that clings to him drop down onto the tiled floor without disruption.

Steam settles around him, makes it hard to breathe, and he regrets showering in such hot water.

But even despite having just showered, George still feels dirty for feeling the way he does, feels ungrateful for forcing himself to grow disinterested in Dream. Feels... like shit.

The door opens and Dream enters.

George shoves down the irrational distaste he feels at knowing he and Dream are close enough to leave doors unlocked.

George _hates_ what he's become in the months he's known Dream - and what he's become is an _absolute fucking bore_ , getting excited at the smallest romantic gestures, forming sentimental attachments with everything, leaving the fucking bathroom doors unlocked because he and Dream have nothing to hide from each other anymore. 

He hates it. He really fucking hates it. 

But he's not ready to leave it yet. So he clears his pinched expression and puts on a fake smile as Dream leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

He hates himself for enjoying the little kiss so much.

"You need to shower?" George asks conversationally, trying to keep himself from thinking too much.

Dream shakes his head, starts brushing his teeth. Through his mouthful of toothpaste, he says, "No, just going to the gym. Why are you up?"

George shrugs. "Woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep."

It's not _entirely_ a lie, but he's damn sure he won't be telling Dream he'd been up since three and the reason he couldn't get back to sleep was because he couldn't get any rest from the annoyance that came about whenever his mind slipped to the territory of their relationship.

Dream hums and he's just... so fucking _Dream-like_ its frustrating. 

Brave to a fault and so fucking demanding. It's what George loves about the man, but thinking on it now, covered in droplets of water with a puddle at his feet, George can't help but be annoyed at Dream.

He does his best not to show it.

Dream nods, completely oblivious to the George's hateful monologue, and he spits out his toothpaste into the sink. He rinses his mouth thoroughly before he looks back to George with a infuriatingly fond gaze.

"You want me to bring you anything from the convenience store when I get back?"

George resists the urge to roll his eyes. Fuck. He _hates_ himself for being so irritable when Dream means so fucking well, but he can't help his thoughts.

_Since when did they become the type of couple who run errands for each other in the fucking convenience store?_

"No," George declines politely, trying his damned fucking hardest to keep the edge out of his voice and cringing when he stresses out the pronunciation a bit too forcefully. "I'm good. Enjoy your workout."

Dream beams at him, and the discomfort in his stomach grows.

The blond leans closer, pulls him by the waist, and captures his mouth in a minty kiss. George kisses a bit angrier than he usually does, pulls away a bit earlier than he usually does. If Dream notices, he doesn't bring it up.

"Thanks, Georgie." He starts walking away. "See you."

 _Georgie_. He needs to fucking gag. _Sappy fucking nickname._

It's too soft. Too domestic. Doesn't fit him. Makes him mad.

George frowns. "Hey, actually, you know what?" He asks before Dream can leave. "Can you get me a pack of cigarettes?"

Dream arches a brow. "Since when do you smoke?"

George's frown deepens, a bit more defensive than he needs to be. "A puff bar will do the trick, if you're gonna ask. Jesus."

Dream mimics the frown. A tense silence, unamused stare.

"That's annoying," Dream says. "Don't do that."

"Do _what_?"

"Get all pissy." Dream's gaze has hardened. "I'll get you your cigarettes, dude. Just asked a fucking question, don't be such a prick about it." 

_Whatever_. "Sorry." _Who does he think he is, George's dad?_ "You're right." _Controlling dick of a man_. "Shouldn't have snapped." _Uptight idiot_. "Have fun at gym. And thanks." _Sentimental piece of shit that George is so very in love with._

Dream's stare stays unreadable.

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, George. I love you, see you later."

He walks out the bathroom, closes the door, and seconds later, George can hear him start heading downstairs.

His steps sound angry against the carpeted stairs. Not the type of stomping anger, George thinks. The type of angry that really doesn't want to be present. Forceful steps, but there's an effort made to keep from being too loud.

And yet, despite the anger, Dream still manages to say those three fucking words without a hassle.

_I love you._

George wants to like it without wanting to hate it. He finds he can't.

He walks back into the shower and turns the water on. It's at it's highest setting. Steam takes back over all around him. George scrubs until his skin is red raw.

* * *

As Winter approaches, George is a steaming pot of unidentifiable emotions - none of them good.

He finds himself growing more cynical of his and Dream's relationship, as if he were some fucking critic. It's annoying to always look for the worst in a situation, but George can't help it. It's instinct at this point.

Everything Dream does seems unfair to George.

Things come easily to Dream. He takes what he wants without a care in the world. He doesn't think twice about saying "I love you," doesn't bother with beating around things he wants to talk about, doesn't care for being abrasive. Dream doesn't beg.

He takes without permission, walks without repercussion.

He's straightforward and like George, he can't keep a stable relationship because of it. But unlike George, he's much more willing to try.

And it infuriates him how Dream manages to stride through their relationship so effortlessly.

It infuriates him how he can't.

His frustration shows. It manifests in shitty ways, manifests when he ignores Dream for days on end over the smallest things, when he does things he knows pisses Dream off, when he pushes him away.

They're having dinner at Dream's house when Dream confronts him about it, pausing whatever show Dream was watching and George was half listening to.

Dream turns his entire body to face George, and it looks oddly like the time George dumped one of his exes during a movie date. Instead of starting with, _This isn't working out,_ though.

Dream starts with a straightforward, "You've being really fucking weird lately."

George turns to Dream with an unimpressed stare and frowns. "Thanks."

Dream's gaze is stony, unrecognizable. He's got eyes full of entropy, a callous sort of destruction hiding behind them, and for the first time in their relationship, George finds himself scared - not for himself, but for their relationship.

"Wasn't a compliment," he informs with a serious tone and George can't help but laugh nervously at the implications of the statement.

He sounds just as shaky as he feels, and he thinks maybe Dream finds it pitiful enough to soften up a little, but Dream doesn't let out.

"Sorry, then?" George tries again. He's not proud of how his voice falters a bit near the end.

"Don't be. I don't want an apology."

The way Dream speaks is torture.

It's like getting told off by the teacher who favors you for the first time, and it's not like he's never said anything mean to George before, but the context of this mean thing is incredibly different to the context of others.

George thinks he's going to shit himself.

He side eyes the unreadable blond and purses his lips, trying to sound braver than he felt when he demands, "What the fuck do you want then?"

Dream shrugs, leans back on his chair in an action of bravado. It looks more menacing than it should. "Why have you been such a fucking _dick_?"

George purses his lips. "You're the one ambushing me in the middle of dinner, what do you want me to say? I'm sorry for _defending myself?_ "

Dream shakes his head slowly.

"No," he drawls out in a way that George thinks is incredibly unnecessary. "I don't mean why are you being a dick _right now_. I mean why have you been a dick _the past fucking weeks, George_."

George tenses up.

He looks down at his plate, avoiding Dream's unbearably accusatory bright green eyes, and he stares at the uneaten food he can't even think of stomaching anymore.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Dream stands from his chair abruptly, and the wood of the chain's legs screech the floor as he does, making George flinch across Dream.

" _Bullshit!"_ He spits out the word in a way that makes George clench his jaw in anticipation. "You've been _pushing me away_ , getting _pissed off_ at the _smallest shit_ , and it's _annoying,_ George. I thought it would pass, but it's been _ages_ now, and I've run out of patience! So fucking _spit it out already._ "

The sound of Dream's sudden outburst is closely followed by blood rushing in George's ears, followed again by a high pitched ringing that comes from nowhere. The silence is deafening. At some point, George's hands had curled themselves onto tight fists, nails leaving crescent moon indents onto his palm. 

"Can we _please_ just eat dinner?" He sounds fragile. Delicate.

Dream laughs, maniacal, but there is no humor.

"You can't just be a fucking asshole and expect me _not_ to call you out on your shit, George!" He throws his hands onto the air, gesturing wildly as George sits, frozen on his seat. "I'm not one of your pampering ex boyfriends! I won't just _excuse you_ for the shit you pull!"

George frowns.

He raises his chin, looks up at Dream with a hard expression and tight lips. And he opens his mouth and says, "What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?"

Dream glares back, looking smug when he gets a rise out of George. "You fucking _heard me_. Acting childish and immature won't make me treat you like you're _four_ , George. Fucking realize it."

George stands, and though he is much shorter than Dream, they are level in the sense that they are both bombs, waiting to explode in full, careless of the destruction.

They are equal forces of nature, two sides of the same defective coin, staring eye to eye with equal amounts of hurt and anger and betrayal and hate.

If looks could kill, they'd both be dead where the stood. 

And George knows somewhere deep down that they don't mean any of the words they're saying and it's just heat of the moment scalding statements, but it's easier for George to ignore the healthy road and spit back.

" _Fuck you_ ," George hisses, eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, Dream."

He turns around and starts to walk away in angry steps that threaten to burn the carpet.

Dream follows, unrelenting, and George wants nothing more than to turn around and deck the man. But he thinks on it and realizes that would probably hurt him more than it would hurt Dream.

They move across the house in a flurry of emotions, a perfect storm, their angry steps feeding each other until George finally stops at the front door of the house, taking his coat down from the coat rack and slipping it on.

Dream sneers, scoffing in a way that makes George's blood boil.

"Of course you're just going to leave!" He laughs without any humor. Vile and bitter and so so angry. "You're a fucking coward, George. _Face your shit_."

George doesn't turn around.

He opens the door.

"You're a fucking _prick_ , Dream," he says with a voice far to calm, laced with poison and ice.

And he scans his brain for the most hurtful things to say to wipe the smirk off Dream's face. He will regret these words later.

But for now, he turns on his heels, facing Dream with a blank expression that somehow hurts more than the glare he was sporting moments ago. George opens his mouth and speaks.

"Looking at you right now, Dream, I understand why people don't want to be around you."

Dream's jaw locks at the statement. He looks at George and falters a bit, hesitating. 

George pushes down the voice in his head that warns him the regret will burn when the adrenaline comes down and continues.

"You're _small_ and _insecure_ and I'm going to do you a favor and tell you this because everyone in your life is too fucking scared to say it: as soon as someone gets to know you in your entirety, they will _never_ be able to love you. So give up now."

George hears the sharp shattering of glass when he closes the door and walks away.

* * *

Fall passes by in quiet melancholy.

George drowns out his desire for Dream's company with other men, fills his days and nights with careless sex and drugs galore.

They're temporary highs, temporary distractions to keep his mind off the thought of blond hair and green eyes and hands that leave loving bruises. But they're just that - painfully temporary.

The boys he fuck are too gentle with him, too afraid to leave love bites, too soft to order him around, and George takes no shame in admitting they all look like Dream. But no matter how alike to Dream they look, they are _nothing_ like the real thing.

Where Dream's eyes are a dangerous shade of green that glint dangerously when they observe George,

George's hookups' green eyes are soft when they regard George, like they're looking at a piece of art rather than a real life human.

Where Dream's freckled hands take pleasure in digging into George's skin with hungry fervor, giving pleasure the same way they distribute pain, George's hookups' hands roam around George's skin, exploring him like he's the pages of a book, admiring rather than truly touching.

It's insulting how gentle they are with him, treating him like he's an object to be worshiped, romanticizing him rather than seeing him as a person who wants to be wrecked.

And in that way, they are disappointing. Every encounter with every boy that resembles Dream is disappointingly boring, disappointingly unsatisfying, disappointingly _not Dream_.

It's why George always leaves first, and coming home to an empty house always leaves him crestfallen. He keeps expecting possessive hands to grab him by the waist when he comes home, keeps expecting the shower to be running, keeps expecting the rough voice he fell in love with to call his name from the bedroom.

But the house is always just silent. And dark. And empty.

George can't stand it. Coming home to the absence of Dream is excruciating. He wonders if the absence of him is excruciating for Dream as well.

And it's funny when they meet again in December.

* * *

House party.

A gathering of a select multiple different friend groups with cheap cans of beer and music that's not too popular but not too alternative either. It's organized and clean but still fun and lively - less of a college frat party and more of a big Christmas get-together with a bunch of young adults.

Inside, the house is warm. Dream has been outside for a while, bearing the cold, sat against a staccato wall. The door opens. He doesn't need to look up to see who it is.

"I think I miss you," George says, the only sound to be heard in the winter silence, a single isolated voice that cuts through the still and cold air.

Dream exhales, exhausted. He leans his head back until it hits the wall and finishes his drink - a can of ice cold beer because he likes the way the cold numbs his tongue - in three big gulps.

He doesn't talk for a while, and George stands uncomfortably to the side, waiting for Dream's answer. When a minute passes with no response, George _almost_ accepts the reality where Dream was ignoring him and heads back inside.

But Dream crushes up the empty can with a strong grip and throws it somewhere into the dewy winter grass. George eyes the can and grows hopeful with the movement, allows himself the pleasure of entertaining the idea everything would be okay.

Dream stands, brushing himself off, and he stares at George with a bored expression. His face looks blank. Tired.

"You miss me." He sounds unimpressed. George is about to comment on it out of concern, but Dream replies with a monotone, "Tough luck."

Something shatters in George's chest.

And Dream walks towards him. Bumps shoulders. Walks past.

As he walks by, George pleads, just loud enough for Dream to hear, "Scream at me or something. Hit me. It would make this easier." 

Admitting it's difficult.

Dream only keeps walking. "You don't deserve easy, George."

It stings. George turns on his heels and catches Dream by the wrist.

It's hardly a tight grip, and George fully expects Dream to pull his hand back, but Dream only freezes where he stands, letting himself be tethered in place.

George's fingertips burn where they meet the skin of Dream's wrist. He doesn't let go. He craves the contact, wants more of it. 

" _Please_ ," George attempts again. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do. I'll do it. Just... talk to me. Please."

Dream lets out a sigh, equal parts annoyed and mad. He turns around, facing George with tired eyes, rimmed with dark circles of unrest, and he asks, "What do you _want_ me to say, George?"

George purses his lips. He doesn't know.

Dream rolls his eyes at George's silence. He pulls his wrist back, and George mourns the loss of contact.

" _What_ do you _want_ me to _say_ , George?" Dream repeats, his voice sharper this time, and George still can't answer. "Do you want me to tell you _everything's okay?_ Do you want me to get on my knees and fucking _apologize_? Do you want me to -"

"Tell me you still love me." George's heart pounds dangerously in his chest. His eyes are blurred by the tears threatening to escape. "Please. If you can do that. Doesn't have to be true. Tell me that despite the fact I'm an asshole and I'm ungrateful and I'm unsteady and volatile... you still love me? I still have that?" 

Dream stands tall over him, expression unreadable and stony. He rolls his eyes again, flippant. George doesn't know if it's a surrender or dismissal. 

Dream sighs. Heavy. "Of _course_ I still love you."

A wave of hope ignites in George's gut at the words. _I still love you_. He looks up at Dream, expectant, wistful. Pathetic. He looks small and fragile and sad. But that's okay.

"You do?"

Dream nods.

"I love you." He says it, but he doesn't smile. He doesn't laugh or pick George up into a tight hug or kiss him. He just stands still. "But I can't _be around you_ right now."

George frowns. "Why not?" He presses, and he takes a step towards Dream who steps backwards, keeping the distance. The effort to keep distant breaks something in George.

Dream swallows.

" _George_...," He sounds strained. "I'm angry. You _need_ to understand that. Looking at you makes me feel fucking murderous." He pauses, runs his fingers through his blond hair. "I'm angry in a way that you're too _soft_ to understand."

"But that's okay!" George insists, gesturing wildly and desperately trying to grasp onto what they used to have. "Because you _love_ me! And I love _you_! I don't ca-"

"Are you horrified by me, George?" Dream interrupts. He tilts his head, curiously.

George furrows his eyebrows together at the sudden question. His mind goes blank before he can fully process it. "I- What? _No_ , Dream. Of course not."

Dream nods. And he blinks slowly. His lips part. 

"There's nothing more I want in this moment than to wrap my hands around your neck and hurt you for everything you said to me when you left." Dream pauses to watch his reaction, frowns when George grimaces. "Are you horrified by me now?"

Eyes wide, George gulps. "I...."

"Good." Dream turns around and opens the door back into the house. "You should be. I love you, George. But I really fucking hate you."

And he steps inside and leaves.

Winter had never felt so cold.

**Author's Note:**

> hey starsquad it hasnt been very poggers irl for a while and genuinely the entire goal of this fic was for me to project into george lmfao. minecraft men make my bpd go brrrrr. but i think it did pretty well at showcasing a relationship that could have been so healthy and perfect but ended in just a shitstorm. 
> 
> anyway this is my first fic in this fandom and im scared bc y'all seem so fucking critical abt fics here and u intimidate me but i did my best so fuck it ig
> 
> i focused a lot on george's need for toxicity in his life and i really hope i did a good job at showing how george wanted to be mistreated bc he doesn't want to be objectified. to him, being mistreated as a person is better than being glorified as an object, and i hope i wrote that well lmfao
> 
> a lot of dream's character was also made to pander to angry thoughts and shit and i dont think i focused on that as much but i really hope it showed through in like his dialogue and subtle actions. 
> 
> i wanted to try my hand at relationships that could have been great but weren't and genuinely i think it ended up pretty well. i did my best to force the reader to read this through rose tinted glasses and im happy with the result lmao
> 
> id definitely consider doing a like sequel with a happier ending but i think the bittersweet ending (bitter bc they dont end up having sex and forgiving each other, sweet because splitting up was the healthiest thing to do) is satisfying. 
> 
> let me know what yall think of it in the comments pls that'd be pog. if ur gonna be mean tho then be funny pls
> 
> thanks for reading thats poggers asf  
> \- alyssa  
> discord: kuppypuppy#4846  
> twitter : [@ffonippop](https://mobile.twitter.com/ffonippop)  
> tumblr : [@ffonippop](https://tumblr.com/blog/ffonippop)  
> 


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